Inspector French and the Sea Mystery

‘I’m glad you think so, Inspector. Right, I’ll put through a call to all stations immediately.’

‘Splendid. And can you ask Superintendent Griffiths at Llanelly to advise the Carmarthen men also?’

The necessary circular, drafted, the two chatted for some minutes until French excused himself on the ground that since he was at Swansea he might as well have a look round the town.

‘There’s not much to see in it, Mr French,’ Howells rejoined, ‘but Mumbles is worth visiting I should advise you to take a bus there and walk round the Head and back by Langland. If you’re fond of a bit of good coast you’ll enjoy it. You’ll have plenty of time before we get any replies. Sorry I can’t go with you, but I’m full up here.’

French went out, and after a stroll through some of the principal streets got on board a bus for Mumbles. There he took the walk Superintendent Howells had recommended. He enjoyed every minute of it. As he left the houses behind and the road began to rise up the side of the cliff he felt he was having one of the compensations of a country case. He walked up through the long rock cutting until at the top the wide expanse of the Bristol Channel came into view with the islands and lighthouse off the Head in the foreground. There was some wind and the deep blue of the sea was flecked with white. He stood and watched three outward-bound steamers pitching gently in the swell, the smoke from their stacks trailing away east. Then he took the footpath round the cliffs, rising high round Rams Tor and dropping again to Langland Bay, from which another road led across the neck of the peninsula back into Mumbles. It was getting on towards five when he returned to the police station.

‘You’ve come at the right time, Inspector,’ Superintendent Howells greeted him. ‘I’ve just had two pieces of news. Your lorry was seen twice. About five o’clock on Monday evening, 22nd August, the evening in question, it was seen by one of our men passing through Morriston. Morriston is a town some two miles north of Swansea; indeed it is really a suburb. The lorry came from the Swansea direction and turned east at Morriston towards Neath. It was then carrying the tarpaulin covered object.’

‘Then it started from Swansea?’

‘Looks like it. And it looks as if it finished up at Swansea also. It was seen again on the following morning. About ten o’clock a patrol saw a breakdown lorry coming towards Swansea along the Pontardulais road. It corresponded with the description in every respect except that it was carrying the tarpaulin only.’

‘By Jove! Superintendent, that’s good. It won’t be long till we run it to earth. I take it there are not many breakdown lorries in Swansea.’

‘Give you a list in half an hour.’ He touched a bell. ‘Here, Thomas, start in and ring up all the local garages and find out how many have repair lorries—you know what I mean, fitted with cranes. And see here. You needn’t worry about any with fixed jibs: only those that can be raised and lowered. Got that?’

The constable saluted smartly and withdrew. Howells turned to French and was beginning a remark when his desk telephone rang.

‘Yes. Superintendent Howells speaking … Yes … Gorseinon … Yes … What time was that?… Very good, I’ve got you.’ He rang off. ‘There’s another, Mr French. I think you’re all right this time. At half-past twelve that same Monday night a patrol found your lorry in another lane, also hidden by trees. It was a mile or so east of a little place called Gorseinon: that’s about five miles north-east of Loughor. It was standing in the lane and the driver was working at his engine. Our men stopped and spoke, and the driver said he had been on a job out beyond Llandilo and was returning to Swansea. The description matches and the crate was then on the lorry.’

‘Fine!’ French exclaimed. ‘That settles it. He was evidently going round killing time until it was late enough to throw in the crate. Could we fix his course from all those places you mentioned?’

‘Pretty nearly, I think. Here is a map of the district. He seems to have just made a circle from Swansea to Loughor via Morriston, Neath, Pontardaw, and Gorseinon: say twenty-five miles altogether. Goodness knows how he returned, but it may have been through Bynea and Pontardulais. We may take it he made another detour anyhow.’

‘He made a blunder going with the lorry in that open way,’ French said grimly.

‘I don’t see what else he could have done. But I bet he wasn’t worrying much about being seen. He was banking on the crate not being found.’

‘You’re right, and on odds he was justified. It was by a pretty thin chance that it was discovered. I was saying that to Nield: how the one unlikely chance that a man overlooks or discounts is the one that gets him.’

‘That’s a fact, Inspector, and it’s lucky for us it is so. I remember once when—’

But French was not destined to hear the superintendent’s reminiscence. The telephone bell once again rang stridently.

‘Got it in one,’ Howells observed, after listening to the message. ‘There is only one lorry in Swansea fitted with a movable crane, and it is owned by Messrs Llewellyn of Fisher Street. Moreover, it was hired about four o’clock on the afternoon of that Monday, 22nd August, and returned next morning. Will you see them now? If so I’ll come along and show you the place.’

They soon reached Fisher Street, where there was a large garage bearing the name: ‘The Stepney Motor Car Co.’ The superintendent, entering, asked for Mr Llewellyn.

The proprietor looked thrilled when he learned French’s business.

‘By Jove! you don’t say that that crate was carried on my lorry!’ he exclaimed. ‘I read about its discovery and a dam’ good tale it made. How did you find out so much?’

‘I’ve not proved anything,’ French replied. ‘The whole thing is pure suspicion. But you may lead me to certainty. I’d be obliged if you would tell me what took place.’

‘Surely; I’ll tell you all I can, but it won’t be much.’ He opened a day-book and ran down the items. ‘The 22nd of August,’ he went on. ‘Yes, here it is. We hired out the lorry on that date. But it was ordered beforehand. We got a letter several days before from London from one of the big hotels, signed Stewart, asking if we had a breakdown lorry for hire, and if so, at what rate. It particularised one with a movable jib which would pick up a load from the ground and set it on the lorry table. The machine would be wanted on the afternoon of the 22nd for one day only. If we agreed, the writer’s man would call for it about four on that afternoon and would return it before midday on the 23rd. As the writer was a stranger he would be willing to deposit whatever sum we thought fair as a guarantee. The lorry was wanted to pick up a special machine which the writer was expecting by sea from London, and carry it to his place in Brecknock, where it was to be lowered on to a foundation. As it was part of an invention he was perfecting, he didn’t want any strangers about. He made it a condition therefore that his man would drive.

‘It wasn’t a very usual request, but it seemed reasonable enough, and of course it was none of my business what he wanted the machine for. At first I wasn’t very keen on letting it go, but I thought if he would pay a deposit of £300 and £5 for the hire, I should be safely covered. It was only a Ford ton truck with the crane added. I wrote him the conditions and he replied agreeing to the figure and asking that the lorry should be ready at the hour mentioned.

‘At the time stated a man came in and said he had been sent for the machine by his employer, Mr Stewart. He produced the three hundred pounds, and I gave him a receipt. Then he drove away.

‘Next day, about ten-thirty, he came back and said he had got done earlier than he expected. I had the lorry examined, and when I found it was all right I paid him back £295. He returned me my receipt, and went out, and that was all about it.’

‘It’s a pleasure to get a clear statement like that, Mr Llewellyn,’ French said, with his friendly smile, ‘and it’s surprising how seldom one does get it. There are just one or two further points I should like information on. Have you got those letters from the London hotel?’

‘No, I’m afraid they’re destroyed. They were kept until the transaction was finished and then burned.’

‘But you have the address?’

‘Mr John F. Stewart, St Pancras Hotel, London.’

‘You might give me the dates of the correspondence.’

This also the owner was able to do, and French added them to his notes.

‘Can you describe the hand they were written in?’

‘They were typewritten.’

‘Purple or black ribbon?’

Mr Llwellyn hesitated.

‘Black, I think, but I couldn’t be sure.’

‘Now about the driver. Could you describe him?’

‘He was a middling tall man, middling stout also. His hair was red and his complexion fresh, and he wore glasses.’

‘His dress?’

‘I could hardly describe it. He was dressed like a well-to-do labourer or a small jobbing contractor or something of that sort. He was untidy, and I remember thinking that he wanted a shave pretty badly. I took him for a gardener or general man about a country place.’

‘You couldn’t guess where he had come from by his accent?’

‘No, I couldn’t tell. He wasn’t a local, but that’s all I could say.’

‘The same man came back next day?’

‘Yes.’

‘Had you any conversation with him on either occasion?’

‘No, except that he explained about lowering the machine on to the foundation, same as in the letter.’

This seemed to French to be all he could get and after some further talk he and the superintendent took their leave.

‘He’s loaded up the crate here in Swansea at all events,’ French observed when they were in the street. ‘That seems to postulate docks and stations. I wonder if I can trespass still further on your good nature, Superintendent?’

‘Of course, I’ll send men round first thing tomorrow. It’s too late tonight; all the places would be shut.’

‘Thanks. Then I’ll turn up early in the morning.’

At the nearest telegraph office French sent a message to the Yard to have inquiries made at the St Pancras Hotel as to the mysterious Mr John F. Stewart. Then, tired from his exertions, he returned to his hotel at Burry Port.

Early next morning he was back in Swansea. It was decided that with a constable who knew the docks, he, French, was to apply at the various steamship offices, while other men were to try the railway stations and road transport agencies. If these failed, the local firms and manufacturers who usually sent out their products in crates were to be called on. French did not believe that the search would be protracted.

This view speedily proved correct. He, had visited only three offices when a constable arrived with a message. News of the crate had been obtained at the Morriston Road Goods Station.

Fifteen minutes later French reached the place. He was met at the gate by Sergeant Jefferies, who had made the discovery.

‘I asked in the goods office first, sir,’ the sergeant explained, ‘but they didn’t remember anything there. Then I came out to the yard and began inquiring from the porters. At the fifth shot I found a man who remembered loading the crate. I didn’t question him further, but sent you word.’

‘That was right, sergeant. We shall soon get what we want. This the man?’

‘Yes, sir.’

French turned to a thick-set man in the uniform of a goods porter who was standing expectantly by.

‘Good day,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I want to know what you can tell me about that crate that was loaded up on a crane lorry about six weeks ago.’

‘I can’t tell you nothing about it except that I helped for to get it loaded up,’ the porter answered. ‘I was trucking here when Mr Evans came up: he’s one, o’ the clerks, you understand. Well, he came up and handed me a weighbill and sez: “Get out that crate,” he sez, “an’ get it loaded up on this lorry,” he sez. So I calls two or three o’ the boys to give me a hand and we gets it loaded up. An’ that’s all I knows about it.’

‘That’s all right. Now just take me along to Mr Evans, will you?’

The man led the way across the yard to the office. Mr Evans was only a junior, but this fact did not prevent French from treating him with his usual courtesy. He explained that the youth had it in his power to give him valuable help for which he would be very grateful. The result was that Evans instantly became his eager ally, willing to take any trouble to find out what was required.

The youth remembered the details of the case. It appeared that shortly after four o’clock one afternoon, some five or six weeks previously, a man called for a crate. He was of rather above medium height and build, with reddish hair and a high colour and wore glasses. He sounded to Evans like a Londoner: at all events he was not a native. Evans had looked up the waybills and had found that a package had been invoiced to someone of the name given. The crate answered the man’s description and was carriage paid and addressed ‘To be called for.’ Evans had therefore no hesitation in letting him have it. Unfortunately he could not remember the stranger’s name, but he would search for it through the old waybills.

He vanished for a few minutes, then returned with a bulky volume which he set down triumphantly before French.

‘There you are,’ he exclaimed, pointing to an item. ‘“Mr James S. Stephenson, Great Western Railway Goods Station, Morriston Road, Swansea. To be called for.” “Stephenson” was the name. I remember it now.’

This was good enough as far as it went, but Evans’ next answer was the one that really mattered.

‘Who was the sender?’ French asked, with thinly veiled eagerness.

‘“The Vida Office Equipment Manufacturing Co., Ltd., Ashburton, South Devon,”’ read Evans.

The name seemed dimly familiar to French, but he could not remember where he had heard it. Evans went on to say that the crate was invoiced from Ashburton on Tuesday, 16th August, and had reached Swansea on Saturday, 20th. Carriage had been paid by the Vida Company, and the whole transaction had been conducted in a perfectly ordinary and regular way.

French left the goods office, and at the nearest telephone call office rang up the police station in Ashburton. After a considerable delay he got through. Would the sergeant inquire for him whether the Vida Company had sent out a crate on the 16th August last, addressed to the Morriston Road Goods Station, Swansea, to be called for, and if so, what was in this crate and who had ordered it.

For nearly three hours he hung about the police station before being recalled to the telephone. The Ashburton sergeant reported that he had been to the Vida Works and that the manager confirmed the sending out of the crate. It contained a large duplicator, a speciality of the firm’s. The machine had been ordered by letter from the Euston Hotel by a Mr James S. Stephenson. He enclosed the money, £62 10s., stating that they were to send it to the Morriston Road Goods Station in Swansea, labelled ‘To be kept till called for.’ It was to be there not later than on the 20th August, and he would call for it when the ship by which he intended to despatch it was ready to sail.

The news did not seem very hopeful to French, as over a belated lunch he discussed it with Howells.

‘This opens a second line of inquiry at Ashburton,’ he began, ‘but I do not think somehow that we shall get much from it. I believe the real scent lies here.’

‘Why so? I should have said it depended on what was in the crate when it reached Swansea. And that’s just what we don’t know.’

‘I agree. But to me that sergeant’s report sounds as if things at Ashburton were O.K. If so, it follows that the body was put in some time during that lorry run from Swansea to Loughor. But that doesn’t rule out inquiries at Ashburton. Even if I am right, something may be learned from the order for the machine.’

‘Quite. Both ends will have to be worked. And how do you propose to do it?’

‘Can’t you guess?’ French said blandly. ‘Surely there can be but one answer. I couldn’t hope to do it without the able and distinguished help of Superintendent Howells.’

The other laughed.

‘I thought it was shaping to that. Well, what do you want me to do?’

‘Trace the run, Superintendent. You can do it in a way I couldn’t attempt. I would suggest that with a map we work out the area which could have been visited during that night, allowing time for unpacking the duplicating machine and putting the body in its place. Then I think this area should be combed. If murder has taken place you’ll hear of it.’

‘And you?’

‘I shall go to Ashburton, learn what I can from the order, and if it seems worthwhile, follow it up in London. Then I’ll come back here and join forces with you. Of course we shall have to get Superintendent Griffiths on the job also.’

After some further discussion this programme was agreed to. French, with the superintendent’s help, was to estimate the area to be covered and to organise the search. Tomorrow was Sunday, and if by Monday evening nothing had come of it he was to leave Howells to carry on while he paid his visits to Ashburton and, if necessary, to London.

The longest unknown period of the lorry’s operations being from 8.30 p.m. to 12.30 a.m. at night, this was taken as being the ruling factor in the case. During these four hours the machine had travelled from Neath to Gorseinon, a distance of about twenty-five miles. About two hours would be accounted for by the journey and the changing of the contents of the crate, leaving two more hours for additional running—an hour out and an hour back. This meant a radius of about twenty-five miles. The problem therefore was to make an intensive search of the country within, say, thirty miles of Swansea.

This was a large area, and the work involved the co-operation of a good many men. However, with Superintendent Howells’s help it was arranged and by that evening operations were everywhere in progress.

During the whole of the next two days French remained on the job, working out possible routes for the lorry and making special inquiries along them. But no further information was obtained, and when Monday evening came, without result, he decided that unless he heard something next morning he would start for Ashburton.

But next morning news had come in which made a visit there essential. It appeared that about 9.30 on the evening in question the lorry had been seen standing in the same lane at Gorseinon in which three hours later the police patrol had found it. A labourer reported that he had passed it on his way home. As he approached the driver was sitting on the step, but on seeing him the man had jumped up and busied himself with the engine. The labourer had passed on out of sight, but his way taking him along a path at right angles to the lane, he had looked back across country and noticed the driver again seated on the step and lighting a cigarette. The position of the lorry was the same then as three hours later, and the conclusion that it had not moved during the whole period seemed irresistible.

But if so, it made it much less likely that the body had been put into the crate during the motor drive. The time available would have been so short that the area in which the change could have been made would have been very small indeed. The chances of a disappearance remaining unknown to the police would therefore have been correspondingly reduced. For the first time French began to consider seriously the possibility that the body had come from Devonshire.

While, therefore, Superintendent Howells in no way relaxed his efforts, French took an early train south. He was in a thoughtful mood as they pulled out of the station. This, it was evident, was going to be one of those troublesome cases in which an ingenious criminal had enveloped his evil deeds in a network of false clues and irrelevant circumstances to mislead the unfortunate detective officer to whom an investigation into them might afterwards be assigned. Confound it all! It was not long since he had got rid of that terribly involved affair at Starvel in Yorkshire, and here was another that bade fair to be as bad. However, such was life, and worrying wouldn’t alter it. He was starting on an interesting journey, and he might as well forget his case and make the most of the scenery.

5

Messrs Berlyn and Pyke

Shortly before six o’clock that evening French stepped out of the train at the little terminus of Ashburton.

He had enjoyed his run, particularly the latter portion through the charming South Devonshire scenery, along the coast under the red cliffs of Dawlish and Teignmouth, and then inland through the well-wooded hills of Newton Abbot and Totnes. He was pleased, too, with the appearance of Ashburton, a town T-shaped in plan and squeezed down into the narrow Valleys between three hills. He admired its old-world air and its pleasant situation as he walked up the street to the Silver Tiger, the hotel to which he had been recommended.

After a leisurely dinner he went out for a stroll, ending up shortly after dark at the police station. Sergeant Daw had gone home, but a constable was despatched for him and presently he turned up.

‘I went to the works at once, sir,’ he explained in answer to French’s question. ‘They’re out at the end of North Street. A big place for so small a town. They employ a hundred or more men, and a lot of women and girls. A great benefit to the town, sir.’

‘And whom did you see?’

‘I saw Mr Fogden, the manager. He turned up the information without delay. The duplicator was ordered from London and he showed me the letter. You can see it if you go up tomorrow. There was nothing out of the way about the transaction. They packed the machine and sent it off, and that was all they could tell me.’

Suspiciously like a wild-goose-chase, thought French, as he chatted pleasantly to the sergeant. Like his confrère at Burry Port, the man seemed more intelligent and better educated than most rural policemen. They discussed the weather and the country for some time, and then French said:

‘By the way, Sergeant, the name of this Vida Works seemed vaguely familiar when you telephoned it. Has it been in the papers lately, or can you explain how I should know it?’

‘No doubt, sir, you read of the sad accident we had here about six weeks ago—a tragedy, if I may put it so. Two of the gentlemen belonging to the works—Mr Berlyn, the junior partner, and Mr Pyke, the travelling representative—lost their lives on the moor. Perhaps you remember it, sir?’

Of course! The affair now came back to French. So far as he could recall the circumstances, the two men had been driving across Dartmoor at night, and while still several miles from home their car had broken down. They had attempted to reach the house of a friend by crossing a bit of the moor, but in the dark they had missed their way, and getting into one of the soft ‘mires,’ had been sucked down and lost.

‘I read of it, yes. Very sad thing. Unusual too, was it not?’

‘Yes, sir, for those who live about here know the danger and they don’t go near these doubtful places at night. But animals sometimes get caught. I’ve seen a pony go down myself, and I can tell you, sir, I don’t wish to see another. It was a slow business, and the worse the creature struggled the tighter it got held. But when it comes to human beings it’s a thing you don’t like to think about.’

‘That’s a fact, Sergeant. By the way, it’s like a dream to me that I once met those two gentlemen. I wish you’d describe them.’

‘They were not unlike, so far as figure and build were concerned; about five feet nine or five feet ten in height, I should say, though Mr Berlyn was slightly the bigger man. But their colouring was different. Mr Berlyn had a high colour and blue eyes and reddish hair, while Mr Pyke was sallow with brown eyes and hair.’

‘Did Mr Berlyn wear glasses?’ French asked, with difficulty keeping the eagerness out of his voice.